Love is a Tragedy
by Black Shirts Red Tears
Summary: Lucifer taunts Dean with family. Dean decides it's time to teach the devil a lesson.


**First, a disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. I just like borrowing them and using them as puppets for my own sick entertainment.

**Characters**: Dean Winchester and Lucifer.

**Preview**: Lucifer taunts Dean about family. Dean decides it's time to teach the devil a lesson.

**Warning**: Contains rape and suggested incest. Also contains feels. Rated M for strong language and sexual content.

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"I take it none of you really understand the concept of personal space?" Dean didn't even look over his shoulder to confront the Archangel breathing down his neck.

"Oh, I understand personal space just fine," replied Lucifer, taking it a step further and tracing circles on the back of Dean's neck with his finger. The hunter jerked away, swatting irritably at Lucifer's hand. "What's wrong, Dean? Can't handle the heat?" The irony of the question wasn't lost on Dean. He just sneered at Lucifer's cold vessel and turned back to the fridge, not saying a word. But the devil wasn't finished yet. Being ignored only made him more adamant. "Grab me one, too, would you, Dean?" But he went ignored still as the hunter sat down at the table, opening up a can of beer. Just one, despite Lucifer's request.

When Lucifer sat at the table across from him, Dean glared daggers, but said nothing. And it wasn't long before – "Jesus fucking Christ are you trying to play footsie with me?" The horrified expression on the hunter's face was the icing on top of the cake, and Lucifer almost burst into laughter.

"You don't like it?" he asked innocently. The violently angry expression answered that just fine for him. "I like it. You have nice legs. Not like Sammy's, but I'm sure you know that."

"Dude, that's getting real old, real fast," Dean sighed. "Can't find any new material?"

"So, Dean, how long have you been staring at Bobby Singer's ass?" Dean chose the wrong time to take a drink; he spit it out over the table and coughed it up onto his lap. "How many fingers do you think you'd be able to fit in him? Old guys can probably take a bit more. But be careful. Stretch him out too much and he'll poop everywhere –."

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

Lucifer just laughed.

"And stop it with the fucking footsie – that's my – oh, you sick fuck."

"Tell me, Dean – was it Sam's legs that got you hard, or thinking about fingering Uncle Bobby's ass?"

"I'm gonna barf."

"That's an odd fetish. But if it's what you like." Lucifer retched, and Dean cringed.

"Dude. Way to make a guy soft."

Dean knew how he meant it – your games aren't working on me, Lucifer. That's what it was meant to be. But the predatory ___bingo_look in the devil's eyes made him wish he could swallow those words right back up. Despite how it was intended, it was taken to an entirely different ball park, and one that wasn't entirely untrue. Dean was hard – had been since before he even walked into the motel room, actually. Hot girl at the bar really had an effect on him. But the fact that he was actually complaining – and he knew it was taken as a complaint – about going soft meant that he really cared about being hard at that particular point in time – with Lucifer.

Before he could clarify – that isn't what I meant, and you know it – Lucifer was in his ear, all breath and whispers. "Just a few hours, Dean, and your soul is mine. How do you want your early revenge?" His forked tongue flicked against Dean's ear. Forked tongue. Of course. And why the hell did it have to feel that good? "Being the only human to dominate the devil doesn't sound like such a bad idea to you, does it?" he asked. Dean's grip tightened on the table. Maybe it was the idea of it all – the anger of being conned into this whole game and getting some sort of payback for it – or maybe it was the way Lucifer was insistently palming at his hard-as-a-rock zipper.

"Nope," Dean finally answered. "Not gonna do this."

"You will," Lucifer replied, applying even more pressure. "Because Sam depends on it." Dean backed away, eyes wide and furious. "This is my game, Dean. I can make the rules up as I go if I wanted to. You, on the other hand, can only play by them. If you don't – boom. Sam's head explodes. Very messy."

"Sick son of a bitch."

"So I've been told," Lucifer replied.

Dean stood to start throwing punches, but he only ended up falling back – bouncing on a hard, springy mattress with Lucifer on top of him. "Just think of Sammy," whispered the Archangel. "It shouldn't be anything new for you in these situations."

Lucifer ground into Dean so hard that he felt himself sink into the mattress even more, hips almost bruising with the force. His hands moved to grip the devil's shirt, trying to push him off, but no matter how hard he tried, it just wouldn't come to be. Giggles erupted from the fallen angel. "I like you, Dean," he said, rubbing lewdly against the other, breath cold against the hunter's hot neck. "You know how to please an angel like me. Just put up a fight – try to run away. We both know that it will amount to nothing in the end, but working for it really builds up one hell of a wonderful release. It helps that you have the perfect cock-sucking lips, of course." He ran his tongue along Dean's jaw as he worked on the hunter's pants, unbuttoning them with one hand. "Just like your father."

Lucifer knew that something had snapped moments before it did. Dean had him pinned – ___thought_he had him pinned – and only stopped for a moment to let the thought sink in that Lucifer had actually allowed for this to happen. Rage quickly clouded his mind, however, and his hands fumbled with Lucifer's belt. The Archangel lie passively beneath him, hands behind his head. "All right, fucker," Dean growled, "you want to play this game? Want to keep going on about family? Huh?" The calm look on the devil's face was really starting to piss him off.

Dean rolled the Archangel over, forcing his face into the pillow, and pushed inside of him.

It was so cold that he almost pulled right back out.

Lucifer laughed as Dean fought to stay buried inside of him, grunting in discomfort. But this wasn't about pleasure anymore. It never was about pleasure. It was going back to what he had become since he had been locked up in Hell for forty years and he didn't even know it. It was about teaching a lesson to those who deserved it.

So he pounded into the devil, dry and fast and hard, watching as Lucifer's hands gripped at the pillows, his knuckles growing white. Pain. He was feeling pain. And it brought Dean great satisfaction.

But what Dean didn't realize was that the pain – it brought Lucifer the same thing.

"You want to talk about family, then let's talk about your dad – no, let's talk about your brothers. About how Gabriel left because of all the shit you constantly stirred up. About how Raphael's following in your 'better than Daddy' footsteps. What about how Michael – what is it you're always going on about? – betrayed you." Lucifer tensed. "Fucked you up, didn't he? Not the kind of fucking I bet you wish you had from him – which is why you portray your sick, twisted fantasies on me and Sam. But news flash, bitch – Michael doesn't love you. He isn't even here to save you from the humiliation." It didn't register that Lucifer didn't need saving – not at that moment, not when Dean was so full of rage that he was practically blind.

Something muffled and choked came from Lucifer's throat, and Dean thought it might have been a whimper – a sign of giving up – so he grabbed a fist full of blonde hair and forced his head off the pillow, giving him a chance to repeat what he'd said.

"Michael."

Dean's body went cold. "Fuck you."

"Yeah, harder. Just like that. Fuck me good, Michael. Fuck me like you mean it."

"I'm not your brother, you sick fuck." He felt nausea welling up in his throat.

Lucifer had this giant ass grin planted on his face, and it occurred to Dean that he wasn't in some other world where he was being violated by another angel. He was here, in this moment, and he was still in charge – and he was reminding Dean just who he belonged to.

It wasn't Lucifer. It wasn't Michael. It wasn't even God. It was some bitch named Fate that was bigger than all three, and it was a cruel sort of punishment that was slapped across the hunter's face just when he thought he'd finally gained some control in his life. Lucifer howled with laughter as Dean pulled out, stumbling to the other end of the bed, shaking with fury and disgust. He watched as Lucifer's face fell back into the pillow, watched as the devil's entire body shook with laughter.

And eventually with tears.


End file.
